Taking Care
by ChocolateandRedBull
Summary: When Clint comes home to find Nat sick, what can he do but take care of her? Little drabble, just had to get it out of my head


Small little drabble, the only way to get it out of my head is to write it down, might as well post it because why not? If its OC the I don't care, cos this is how it played out in my head. I left it open to whether or not they're dating cos I thought I'd let you decide. My first Avengers fic to be posted. Not really finished cos nothing really came to mind. If you have any ideas then let me know. Thanks - Chaz

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Clint laughed with the group as they drank, like Tony made them do the first Friday in every month. He pulled his phone out of his pocket when he felt it buzz and quickly read the text, the smile quickly dropping from his face.

 _Won't be coming out tonight, not feeling too great_ – Nat

 _Are you okay? Do you need me to come back?_ – Clint

 _No, I'm fine, I'm just going to watch some TV and go to bed, I'll see you tomorrow_ – Nat

Clint knew there was no talking to her when she was like this, she'd appear tomorrow or the next day and no one will have noticed anything was amiss. Natasha didn't like people knowing she was sick. She could never show weakness. The only people who can even know she's sick are Clint and Coulson.

Clint knew there was nothing he could do for her right now, so shoving his phone back into his pocket he continued to laugh with the remaining members of his team.

It was 2:14am when Tony grabbed Bruce and Thor and dragged them into the takeout place across from the entrance to the Tower and left Clint and Steve stumbling into the elevator, both having consumed slightly too many drinks for their wellbeing. The two agents chuckled at something irrelevant as the door to the elevator opened up into the large living room. Clint stumbled out into the room first, Steve distracted by the city through the glass wall of the elevator.

Clint stopped laughing when he saw Natasha curled up on one of the sofas, a large duvet wrapped around her, fast asleep. He turned around and quietly shushed Steve as he stumbled out of the elevator and caught sight of Natasha. Clint slowly made his way over to her and muted the TV, carefully eyeing up the small trashcan which contained a large stomachful of vomit. Clint simultaneously brushed the hair from Natasha's face and felt her forehead.

"She's burning up..." he muttered.

"Is there anything I can get her?" Steve said, slurring slightly.

Clint smirked, "No, I can handle it, Steve, you can head to bed."

"Sure thing, see you tomorrow," Steve said, hiccupping, already halfway across the room.

Clint belched into his hand as he knelt down beside Natasha and pulled the duvet back slightly. "Tasha? Nat? Come on, it's time to go to bed."

Natasha moaned and rolled onto her back, squinting her eyes at the dim light emitting from the TV. Clint wiped the sweat from her forehead, "Hey there, are you coming to bed?" Natasha moaned again, placing a hand on her stomach. Clint ran his hand through her hair as she took shallow breaths. He quietly picked up the trashcan from the floor, shuddering at its contents and fighting the urge to fill it even more. He quickly helped her sit up as she was sick into the small plastic bucket, Clint holding her hair back and whispering in her ear.

"You're okay, Tash, you're going to be fine, just get it up and we can go to bed." When Natasha finally stopped, Clint pulled the bucket away from her and quickly picked her up, carrying her towards her bedroom, stumbling slightly as his vision still swam from the alcohol. Natasha snuggled into his wide chest, breathing in his aftershave and trying not to focus on how dizzy she suddenly felt.

Clint hummed quietly, trying to comfort the sick girl in arms, hoping the vibration of his chest relaxed her. He crossed the threshold of the bedroom and slowly lowered her onto the bed. Natasha quickly buried herself under the huge duvet. Clint smirked before pulling the covers back.

"You have a fever, Nat, you need to cool off," Clint muttered.

Natasha sighed and curled in on herself, shivering despite the warm night.

Clint sat down on the bed beside the redhead, lightly rubbing her back. "How're you feeling, Tash?"

Natasha muttered something illegible. Clint lay down beside her and continued rubbing her back. "I can't hear you, Nat, just tell me what hurts."

"My stomach," she muttered. "And my head."

"Have you taken anything for it?" Clint asked, making sure to keep his voice low. Natasha nodded slowly, "didn't work, though."

"Mmm, I'll let you sleep it off then" Clint says, moving to get up. Natasha placed a hand on his bicep. "Don't go. Please." She said quietly, looking up at him through tired eyes.

Clint sighed but looked down at her fondly, "Nat, I have to admit, I'm pretty drunk right now, I can't imagine you'd want me here."

However, Natasha was already curled around him.

Clint wrapped his arms around her and kicked off his shoes, wondering how Natasha could stand the smell of booze and body odour being emitted from his polo shirt.

Clint woke up to sound of retching as Natasha sat beside him vomiting into another trashcan. He glanced at the clock. 5:27am. Clint winced at the sounds of Natasha puking. He placed a hand on his stomach and tried to ignore her until it became too much and he had to make a run for the bathroom.

He somewhat noticed Natasha come in after a few minutes and vaguely felt her rub his back until his retching stopped and he sat back onto the floor. Natasha sat down beside him. "Did I get you sick?" she asked quietly, shivering slightly beside him.

Clint wrapped his arm around her, "No, Nat, don't worry about that, I'm just pretty hung over, that's all..." he said quietly, wincing at the pain in his head. "Come on, let's go back to bed." He stood up slowly, placing a hand on his stomach to try to settle it. He then reached out a hand and pulled Natasha up before wrapping an arm around her waist and helping her back to the bed.

By that evening, both Natasha and Clint were ready to face the outside world again, chuckling at how they seemed to be the only Avengers capable of leaving their beds.


End file.
